


Like A Rhinestone Cryptid

by fingalsanteater



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Canon Era, Canon Typical Weirdness, Canon-Typical Horror, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-08 04:29:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11074086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fingalsanteater/pseuds/fingalsanteater
Summary: Everyone likes sparkly things, silly.Or, Stan, ahem, "borrows" something for one of the Shack's Frankencreatures. Eventually, the "borrowee" comes to collect.





	Like A Rhinestone Cryptid

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DesertScribe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesertScribe/gifts).



> Set some time soon after the episode "Land Before Swine," and references "Carpet Diem."

"Aw," coos Mabel, "this tail is so fluffy. It's like if a - a kitty and a cloud had a baby and that baby had this exact tail right here." At the thought, a look crosses her face that's half horrified, half suspicious, alternating between eyeing the tail pinched between her fingers and Stan who is pointedly focused on glitter gluing the last tuft of fur in place on his Frankencreature.

"Where did y -" She starts to ask, but he distracts her from any continuing questioning with a handful of colorful feathers, spreading them out in front of his face like a lady with a folding fan and making Mabel stop mid sentence to giggle. He drops the feathers, letting them fall to the table on the mess of art supplies, then quickly slaps more glitter on the feathers and fur of his Peaurtlemunk, or a Peacock-Turtle-Chipmunk; the finishing touch, he tells himself, knowing Mabel will probably call for more glitter.  
  
"Well, would you look at that," he says to her, turning the taxidermy abomination-slash-soon to be moneymaker toward Mabel to show off how the glitter highlights the iridescence of the peacock feathers. "You were right, Mabel. Glitter does make everything, ah -" He stammers, scratching his neck awkwardly and searching for a word, coming up short.  
  
"Sparkly!" Mabel exclaims, dropping the fluffy tail and practically clambering on the table to get a better look at the Peaurtlemunk.  
  
"Oh my gosh, Grunkle Stan! You are an artist," she says, sounding awed and pronouncing artist with a faux-French lilt on the last part of the word. "There are sparkles on sparkles on sparkles! And, do I spy with my little eye rhinestones on the turtle shell? Grunkle Stan, did you bezazzle?" She's all shiny with excitement, braces glinting in the early afternoon sunlight as she smiles wide, a dusting of glitter shimmering on her pink cheeks.  
  
Stan's heart lightens a bit, seeing her smile up at him, obviously pleased with his creation. Though, the feeling could just be his lunch digesting. Sometimes emotions and indigestion were hard to distinguish.  
  
"I might have bezazzled just a little," he admits, tilting the shell of the creature so the light catches the stones.  
  
"It's so beautiful," Mabel says, continuing to sound awed.  
  
"It's," Stan corrects, "going to make me a lot of money. Tourists apparently love this sort of stuff. Who knew?"  
  
Mabel plops back down into her chair, arms crossed over her butter yellow sweater, which sported the image of a broken egg with a smiling face on the yolk.  
  
"I knew," she told him, with a sort of surety born of youthful optimism. "Everyone likes sparkly things, silly."  
  
Stan had been irritated at first when he discovered Mabel had glued cheap multi-colored crystals and sequins to his two-headed squirrel skulls. But, the group he was leading went gaga for it, paying ten - no- twenty bucks just to snap pictures of the “Amazing Twin Crystal Skulls! Two Crystal Skulls are Better Than One,” he quickly dubbed it right then and there.  
  
"They sure do," he agrees, suppressing the strange urge to reach across the table to ruffle Mabel's hair affectionately. Instead he tries to surreptitiously pocket the tail that had caught her attention earlier.  
  
A neon pink gel pen thwacks the knuckle of the thumb that is attempting to pull the tail slowly across the table and into his palm to disappear up his sleeve.  
  
"Nuh uh, Grunkle Stan," Mabel says, scolding him while wagging her pointer finger. "Not so fast there with your -" she pauses to shake off a feather glued to her hand - "sticky fingers. I still want to know where you got this.”

She picks up the tail and turns it over in her hand, examining its thick brown fur and the clean cut at its base, revealing a thin sliver of gnarled, scarred skin surrounding shock-white bone. “Is it some kind of fancy old lady thing like those foxes people used to wear around their necks like scarves?"  
  
Stan holds his hands up in acquiescence and laughs. "Yeah, sure," he lies. "Found it at an antique store. It was so pathetic there, all dusty on a top shelf. Looked like it was in need of a good home. It just crawled into my pocket, I swear!"  
  
Mabel groans good-naturedly and rolls her eyes, but seems to be buying it.  
  
"And," Stan continues, "I think your Frog O' Nine Tails is short a tail." He gestures to her over-large taxidermy bullfrog, nail polish staining its thin lips red like a cheap mortician's attempt at making up a corpse. Faux and real animal tails of various species were glued down its head and back like a bizarre mane, or a manehawk, as Mabel had called it.  
  
She audibly counts down from the top tail – some scraggly thing that looks more like a piece of twine than anything – and only reaches the number eight in her count.  
  
Gasping over-dramatically, and holding up he fingers to show him she only counted eight, she says, “You’re right!” Taking the tail, she slathers glue on the lowest part of the frog’s back and affixes it so it hangs a bit like the tail of a cat. Then she blows another dusting of glitter on the already blindingly sparkly creation. Stan knows for a fact that with that shine this one is going to make him a ton of cash.  
  
“There,” says Mabel, leaning back and sounding smug and satisfied with her finishing touch. “Perfect.”

* * *

  
Later that evening, Stan and the kids are in the TV room watching _The Duchess Approves 2: A Woman’s Revenge_.  
  
“A movie fifty years in the making,” Stan told the kids when they settled down to watch. “With a two hundred percent more explosions and gunfights than the first, the TV guide claims. We'll just see about that."  
  
Mabel is on the edge of her seat, enraptured by the image of the Duchess in her bare corset and torn petticoat holding a pistol to the head of Count Lionel, who she has discovered is traitor to the crown and in cahoots with pirates.  
  
Dipper, however, is on the floor reading a large hardbound book he found in the hidden room. The cover is a dusty blue, and there’s a strange, black burn on the front. Stan hazards a glance at his nephew’s reading material and knows, just from a glance, that when Dipper turns the page, he’ll find an illustration of the Jersey Devil. Beside the illustration the book provides, there will be an additional, inky sketch of what it supposedly more accurately looks like; and, next to that sketch, are handwritten notes regarding a face-to-face encounter with the creature. (“Surprisingly friendly; can usually be found at the local disco club on a Saturday night. Terrible dancer – all hooves.”)  
  
He knows all this because he turned to that page – and many of the others with his brother’s handwritten notes – a hundred times before he finally locked the book away to spare him his own sanity. He just couldn’t focus on looking for clues in something that had little to do with the portal and everything to do with Ford’s other nerdy hobbies like dancing with devils.  
  
Dipper turns the page and makes a small sound of excitement at the sight of the notes.  
  
Stan narrows his eyes, suspicion pricking at his mind. Dipper obviously recognizes the writing and is trying not to look like he’s going crazy for an amateurish drawing and a few sentences like Mabel does for her boy bands. Stan wonders if Dipper may have found something else of Ford’s laying around, something nerdier and full of more of Ford’s writings.    
  
But, no. Stan shakes his head, trying to physically shake off the feeling that he’s missing something. He’s gone through the Shack from top to bottom, including the room where Dipper got the book. The Journal isn’t here, nor is anything else that can help Stan complete the portal.  
  
He shrugs off his thoughts and turns his attention back to the TV just in time for the Duchess to set off the charges leading to several barrels of gunpowder.  
  
"Yes! In your face, Count Lionel!" Mabel screams, clapping loudly as the Duchess walks casually away from the flames engulfing Count Lionel's chateau behind her, coolly blowing smoke from her pistol as she does.  
  
"Hey, did you hear that?" Dipper says suddenly, finally unsticking his eyes from the book to now glare at Stan curiously, like it's his fault Dipper is hearing things.  
  
Stan sticks his pinky finger in his ear and jiggles it around. "Mabel yelling? Yeah, you could hear her in the next town. Maybe even the next state," he says.  
  
Mabel gives Stan a grin full of braces and whispers sarcastically, "Woo-hoo! Go Duchess."  
  
Dipper frowns. "No, not her. Something outside. Turn it down for a second."  
  
Stan obliges only because the channel has gone to commercial break.  
  
"It's probably just a raccoon trying to get into the trash," Stan tells him. “I hope they like used Q-Tips.”  
  
The kids make “ew” faces.

Mabel turns her attention to her brother and teases, "Yeah, Dipper, don’t worry. It’s not like raccoons can read all those dorky, crumpled up pages with 'I heart W –'”  
  
"What? W-uh-atermelon? I heart watermelon? No, no," says Dipper, awkwardly interrupting Mabel with a hard glare. Stan rolls his eyes and refrains from commenting.  
  
“Listen,” Dipper tells them again, cupping his ear. Mabel copies him, straining to hear this mystery noise. Stan dials his hearing aid up a notch, just to join in on the “fun.”  
  
Oh, and now he can hear it. The hair on his shoulders stands on end at the sound of the horrific screeching that he’s only heard once before, just a few days ago.  
  
He turns his hearing aid back down and casually says, “Nope, I don’t hear nothing.”  
  
“I hear it,” says Mabel, betraying him.  
  
“It sounds like – ” Dipper pauses, trying to make out the words. “It sounds like something saying ‘tally-ho.’” His face scrunches up in confusion.  
  
Mabel adds fuel to the fire. “Tally-ho? Why would anyone be saying that? That’s just weird.”  
  
Stan laughs; he can’t help it. “Hunters,” he tells them. “Hunters are weird. Forget it, kids, it’s nothing. Just the annual, uh, hunt.”

“Hunt? Hunt for what?” Dipper asks, but Stan shushes him

“Duchess is back,” he says, turning the volume back up on the TV, pushing it a bit louder this time.  
  
The yowling and screeching is suddenly louder too, like it’s coming from directly on the other side of the wall.  
  
“Darn raccoons sure are getting rowdy with the trash,” Stan says, turning up the TV again. The kids clutch their ears.  
  
The creature outside clearly yells, “Tailypo!” Stan turns up the TV volume even louder.  
  
“Tailypo!” The creature screams, “I want my tailypo!”  
  
“Grunkle Stan,” says Mabel, eyes wide and a little fearful.  
  
“What is it?” Dipper yells, voice trembling a bit.  
  
Great, now Stan feels guilty.   
  
He groans and pushes himself up from his chair before his feelings get too unruly.

“I’ll just go tell those raccoons that they’ll have to wait until we are open to, uh, get what they want…” He’s a little frightened himself, if he’s being honest. He doesn’t like when people – or creatures – come trying to collect from him.  
  
Grabbing his bat and a heavy flashlight that he fishes out from under the excess bobble head inventory, Stan shuffles across the floor to the front door and opens it cautiously.  
  
He sees nothing but darkness and the outline of the trees and the Stanmobile. He hears nothing but the rustle of the leaves on the trees and the chirp of crickets. Sighing, he relaxes a smidgeon, allowing himself to believe the creature took off in the few minutes it took to open the door. Then, something drops from the roof right in front of his face.

Stan yelps in surprise and takes a step back, tripping over his own feet and falling to the floor. He groans and squeezes his eyes shut, not relishing the promise of the pain he’s going to be in when the adrenaline coursing through him wears off. Claws clack against the floorboards and he tightens his grip on his bat before opening his eyes. The brown furred, cat-like creature with a face out of your worst nightmare - just thin, dark sinew over a yellowing skull that shows through in places - is slinking toward him, fire-red eyes blazing with fury.  
  
“Give me my tailypo!” It yells again, and Stan scrabbles backward instinctively, sliding his body across the wood floorboards while trying to hold his bat in front of him defensively.  
  
Two pairs of feet come thundering down the stairs from the attic and skid to a stop beside Stan. (When did the kids even go upstairs, he wonders, and why?)

“You have to give him back his tail,” says Dipper, emboldened with a sudden sense of authority that gets under Stan’s skin for some reason.  
  
“Oh really,” Stan says sarcastically. “Did you figure that from the way it’s yelling about its da-um, darn tailypo?”  
  
“Don’t be like that, Grunkle Stan,” Mabel tells him, clearly disappointed in him. And don’t that just sting a little?  
  
“Well, look,” Stan says, angling for a satisfying outcome for them all. “I don’t have its tail. But, if it wants a tail so bad, I got an old coonskin cap we can just snip the tail off. Just fiv-no, fifteen dollars. A steal if you think about it!” That cap was disgusting and moth-eaten and in need of a trip to the dump. It should do in a pinch.  
  
The kids frown and the creature yells, voice alternating between a deep rumble and high as the whine of an engine, “I want my tailypo, you thief!”  
  
“Yeah,” Stan yells back, “I heard you the first time, you – you broken record.”  
  
“You stole its tail?” Mabel asks, more curious than anything. “I mean, stealing body parts is a little much - even for you, Grunkle Stan.”  
  
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, kid. And, no, I didn’t steal its tail!” He directs the next remark to the creature, “You should have thought about your tail before I caught you skulking around. Finders-keepers, and all that. Keep better track of your detachable parts next time.”  
  
Dipper and Mabel gasp more dramatically than the situation warrants.  
  
The creature snorts derisively. “You slammed my tail in the door and then pocketed it. You said, ‘This ought to bring in some cash,' and started making some horrible noise to cover up the sound of me begging for my tail back.”

“'Some horrible noise?' I was whistling!" Stan says, offended. Then he shrugs. "Eh, I mean, maybe that’s how it went down. Maybe it's not. Maybe this guy's a liar and your Ol' Grunkle Stan is the wronged party here?"

The kids shrug and look at each other.

"Oh, sure! Trust the guy with a face like beef jerky. Okay, maybe that tail did find its way into my pocket, but still… finders-keepers?” He ventures, hopefully. He can’t help that the creature had a tail like hot butter and that one accidental slam of the door as he was shooing it out of the gift shop with a broom was enough to sever it.  
  
“I don’t think finders-keepers applies in situations involving body parts,” Dipper says. “If you chopped off your finger, you wouldn’t want the guy who found it to tell you it’s his now.”  
  
Of course, he’s right. But Stan is loath to give up part of his best moneymaker.  
  
“Come on, Grunkle Stan,” Mabel says, “we’ll find other tails. Better tails!” She cringes and glances at the creature. “No offense,” she adds.  
  
The creature just glares at her and she shifts closer to Stan under its scrutiny.  
  
Stan heaves a heavy sigh. “Fine,” he grunts, picking himself up off the floor, using his bat as leverage. He cracks his back once he’s to his feet and groans.  
  
The tourist-beloved Frog O’ Nine Tails is about to become a Frog O’ Eight Tails, losing its most popular tail, and losing Stan money. He picks up the Frankencreature and hears Mabel choke on a gasp.  
  
The creature sputters incredulously. “You – you used my tailypo for one of your gaudy attractions?”  
  
“I’ll have you know,” Stan says, “that your ‘tailypo’ is one of the most popular ‘gaudy attractions’ here.”  
  
The creature’s red eyes light up, all shiny with something like tears. Ugh. It’s disturbing.  
  
“My tailypo is popular?” The creature whispers, demeanor completely changing. It sits back on its haunches, the hair on its body that was standing on end in anger relaxes, revealing a smooth and healthy coat of fur that is at odds with its terrifying face. It’s clearly taken aback and emotional over the idea of people liking some part of it. This makes Stan weirdly uncomfortable and he hastens to detach the tail and kick the creature out as soon as possible.  
  
“People really like my tailypo?” It asks softly as Stan finally pulls the tail off the frog and hands it back. The creature lovingly clutches the tail in claws and rubs it against its grotesque face.  
  
Dipper and Mabel’s mouths are hanging open like they’ve entered into a contest for the best impression of a large-mouthed bass.  
  
Mabel is the first to recover from the shock of the creature's reaction.

“Like? Like? How about you try LOVE on for size,” she says, getting excited and gesturing wildly. “We got people lining up around – around the block for pictures with your tailypo!” She nudges Dipper with an elbow to back her up.  
  
“Uh, yeah,” he contributes unhelpfully. “They just, um, line up for it. Pictures…”  
  
“That’s right,” Mabel says, not missing a beat and picking up Dipper’s slack.  
  
Stan joins in with a shrug. Anything to get this whole scene over with.

“The kids are crying and whining –” he says, pitching his voice higher and whinier – “‘Mommy, mommy, lemme see the tailypo! I gotta see the tailypo!’ And the moms are swooning over your tailypo right into the strong arms of the handsome Mr. Mystery here.” He gets a little too into it and winks at the creature, recoiling with a full body cringe when he realizes his mistake.  
  
The creature sniffles and wipes a tear from its eye socket with a claw. “That’s lovely to hear,” it says, “but I really need my tailypo back.” It sniffles louder. “Even if I can’t reattach it myself,” it sobs.  
  
Stan groans, sick of the waterworks already – not a good look for a cat with a skull face – and really wanting to watch the 11 P.M. repeat of _The Duchess 2_ since he missed the end the first time.  
  
Mabel’s face lights up with an idea. Stan rubs his thumbs over his eyebrows, pinching his forehead where finger meets thumb.  
  
“I have a great idea,” she says and hops the stairs to the attic with an agility that makes Stan’s knees ache.  
  
“Do you know what she’s up to?” Stan asks Dipper. He shrugs, looking as clueless and wary as Stan feels. The creature somehow blinks at them even though it doesn’t appear to have eyelids. It is awkwardly quiet for a few seconds. The creature examines its claws idly.

“Hey, Tailypo,” Dipper cautiously says, breaking the silence, “can I ask you a question?”

Stan snorts. Yeah, interview the hellbeast, kid, that’ll really get you ahead in life.

“Is it about my tailypo?” The Tailypo, whose proper name it apparently shares with its favorite body part, says.

Now Dipper’s face lights up in a similar way to Mabel’s earlier and Stan is reminded of just how different and how alike they really are, just like another set of twins he knew once. It makes something twinge in Stan’s chest, something sharp and painful. He coughs and pounds his sternum to dislodge the feeling, startling both Dipper and the Tailypo.

Aided by Stan’s ill-timed coughing fit, Dipper seems to forget his fear, taking a few steps closer to the Tailypo. “Yeah, actually! So, doesn’t your tail actually grow back? I read in – “he glances back at Stan briefly – “Uh, somewhere, that it grows back. Is it like a lizard’s tail, coming off as a defense mechanism?”

“Are you saying I lost my tailypo on purpose?” Tailypo asks with a snarl, obviously offended. It clutches its tail to its furry chest. “I take good care of my tailypo!” Its voice gets hysterical and screechy again; the fire in its eyes flares up.

Stan puts a hand on Dipper’s shoulder and pulls him back to put some distance between him and the angered Tailypo. Dipper stumbles backward, his back pressing against Stan's stomach and stays there.  

“Are you saying you want me to live without this tailypo - my most favorite tailypo - just because I can grow a new one?” It asks, hackles rising.

“Hey, cool down there, buddy,” Stan tells the Tailypo, tightening his grip on his bat.

“S-sorry,” Dipper says, “I didn’t mean anything like that. I’m… just curious.”

Stan sighs. “You sure know how to step in it, kid,” he says. 

A crash from the attic distracts them, thankfully, and then Mabel comes bounding down the stairs with her bag of art supplies. The tension breaks and dissipates with her appearance.    
  
“This looks like a job for – dun duh dun duh… superglue!” She shouts gleefully, oblivious to what just occurred. She pulls a tube of glue out of her bag and brandishes it like a sword. “This glue dries as hard as cement and is guaranteed to reattach anything! Fingers, toes, eyeballs, and tailypos! And, I got a little something here to really make you look great.” Out comes a sparkling little bag of rhinestones.  
  
The Tailypo relaxes and brightens happily at the promise of being prettified. Dipper, still pressed up against Stan, sighs and whispers, “Aw, come on.”

Mabel is a flurry of activity, a whirlwind of glue and glitter and rhinestones while Stan and Dipper just stand back, tasked only with holding something here and there.

The Tailypo lets itself be Mabel-handled with a patience it didn’t afford Dipper or Stan. It’s a little unfair, but Stan knows Mabel just has that kind of effect on people – weird monsters, whatever.

“And, just a little – oh, okay,” she says, chuckling to herself, “– a lottle more glitter.” She blows the pile from the palm of her hand over the Tailypo’s face and fur, then sprinkles a bit more over the base of its tail. With a satisfied grin, she steps back to survey her masterpiece.

Pink rhinestones line the Tailypo’s bony brow like eyebrows raised in perpetual surprise, and each sharp, exposed tooth sports one white stone which glints in the light. The hallows of its cheeks are covered in glitter, with more rhinestones along the bone under its eye socket and its protruding jaw.

“Get a load of you,” Stan says, hoping the grimace he feels deep down in his soul isn’t visible on his face. “Fancy-schmancy, aren’t you? Mabel, you are the bezazzle master. You could – you could definitely bezazzle your way out of a paper bag.”

“Aw, Grunkle Stan, thanks,” she says, blushing.

Mabel pulls a mirror out of her bag and holds it so the Tailypo can view his terrifying, rhinestone-encrusted visage.

The squeal it emits at the sight of itself is unearthly and horrifying. Dipper and Stan recoil.

“I love it!” The Tailypo screams. “You are amazing.” It turns around to view its reattached tail. “And my tailypo! So sparkly and beautiful back where its supposed to be. It’s perfect!”

Mabel beams like the sun is shining out of her chest.

“I’m recommending you to all my friends first chance I get,” the Tailypo exclaims, causing Mabel to echo its squeal from earlier.

Stan can’t even suppress the shudder that rises up at the thought of more weird little monsters busting in just for beauty tips and disturbing his life and business.

“No way, Jose. No and no,” he says, pushing Dipper and then Mabel to the side. He starts ushering the Tailypo out the door, using the end of his bat to push it along. “Time to go. Get out. Scram. Don’t come back, you hear. And don’t tell your friends!”

“But Grunkle Stan!” Mabel cries. 

The Tailypo hisses at him as he pushes it out the door. “Bye bye now,” Stan says, and slams the door in the Tailypo’s sparkly face.      

Stan sets his bat down beside the door, for use later if the Tailypo or any of its friends come back by. “Well, now that that’s over,” he says, “who wants to catch the repeat of _The Duchess 2_ with me?”

The kids are silent for a minute, blinking away the weirdness that just occurred.

“That was certainly a thing that happened,” Dipper says.

Mabel laughs.

“Grunkle Stan, can we stay up late and make more popcorn and eat candy and yell at the TV?” She asks, bouncing on her toes, thankfully over Stan disappointing her when he kicked her “client” to the curb.

Dipper looks at Stan with wide, hopeful eyes.

“Sure, kiddo. Let’s get popping,” Stan says, making his way to the kitchen, Mabel and Dipper following close behind.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my friend for reminding me of the Tailypo folk legend a few weeks ago. It felt like it could fit right in to the Gravity Falls universe, so I just crammed it on in there with quite a few liberties taken. 
> 
> In this fic, Ford has written an entry on the Tailypo in Journal 3. It probably says something like: The creature's tail detaches at the slightest provocation, possibly as defense mechanism. I speculate this tail grows back like a lizard's might, but I have yet to examine this theory. When missing its tail, which it calls a 'Tailypo,' hence the name, it will ruthlessly stalk and terrorize those who it believes may have it. However, this creature is very easy to placate - just give back its tail!
> 
> The book Dipper's reading is [Mysteries of the Unexplained](https://www.amazon.com/Mysteries-Unexplained-Readers-Digest/dp/B001AVNI3Y). It was published in 1982, so it's likely Ford was probably gone by the time it went to print. But, it's such a Ford-type book that I couldn't resist. Let's just say it was published earlier in this universe. 
> 
> The illustration of the Jersey Devil is on page 165 in a supplementary section on "Do Monsters Really Fly?" (I know this because I always avoided that page because the picture scared me as kid!)


End file.
